


Memories of Dune

by CultOfStrawberry



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-11-14 11:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfStrawberry/pseuds/CultOfStrawberry
Summary: This is how Dune 7 should have been - not the hackjob that Brian and Kevin wrote. Written in the memory of Frank Herbert, and to honor his legacy. Includes other Dune drabbles inspired from the original Dune novels.





	1. 15,245 AG

Memories of Dune

This series is being written in memory of Frank Herbert and the legacy he left us. Like any other true Dune fan, I feel disgust at the crap that Brian Herbert and Kevin Anderson wrote to “continue” the Dune novels. Hunters and Sandworms were especially crappy, and contradicted Frank Herbert's Dune novels so many times, also ignoring the message that he was giving us (through writing about Leto II and his Golden Path). There was also too much personal drama and unnecessary filler material that stretched it into two books.  
Hence, this series is what I think Dune 7 should have been. Mind you, I am not endeavouring to attempt to write a full-length novel. Rather, I am writing short drabbles and oneshots based on what would be important events after Chapterhouse Dune. I might not be Frank Herbert, but I do my best to honor his legacy, and hopefully give you a better read than Hunters/Sandworms. I felt that 'Memories' was an appropriate title for my series, considering what happened to Arrakis/Rakis/Dune in Heretics of Dune, and for the memory of Frank Herbert.  
This particular installment concentrates on Murbella after the events of Chapterhouse, and how she has to bring the BG and the HM together. What Brian and Kevin did for this part of Dune 7 was absolutely stupid and convoluted. Here is my version ;) The spark that started this idea was based on the Great Honored Matre's reaction to Darwi Odrade's metabolizing the poison she was given so it wouldn't harm her.

o0o0o

Chapterhouse Planet, 15,245 AG (Five years after Sheeana and Duncan's escape at the end of Chapterhouse Dune)

Murbella stared off into the horizon, seeing the haze of the sunset filtered through the dust clouds. Though there were years yet before the sand would reach Chapterhouse lands, already this planet felt like a desert. The air was devoid of moisture, and should a Sister wander out for a walk, they'd soon enough feel specks of dust blowing in on especially windy days.  
But she was satisfied. Soon enough, there would be Spice. For that, sacrifices had to be made. Being leader of both the Bene Gesserit and the Honored Matres had not been easy. But if she had been lacking in sufficient character, she wouldn't even have made it through the Agony.  
Odrade-within gave her solace on the days and nights that were most trying. There was so much to do... ensuring the worms were well, dealing with other planets and organizations, and trying to assess just who this Other Enemy was. At least she had completed her first hurdle – the one of bringing her former sisters into the fold of the Bene Gesserit. At first, her Matre sisters had resisted becoming part of the Bene Gesserit fold. Who could blame them? To them, the Sisterhood was outdated, something left over from the old days before the Scattering.  
But Honored Matres want one thing, and that was power. It had been bred into them from their ancestors – renegade Bene Gesserit who had lost many of the old ways, Fish Speakers hungry to regain the order that they had lost after the Tyrant had died, and angry Tleilaxu females determined to never again be powerless under men.  
When they saw the powers the Sisters had, it was something they naturally coveted. As a converted Honored Matre, Murbella understood that all too well. She spoke to her former Sisters in the way that they understood best. Adhere to Bene Gesserit beliefs, adapt to their ways, and they would have all the power that an Bene Gesserit had. Voices-within, changing their metabolism, transforming poisons within their bodies, remembering anything and everything they needed, and last but most certainly not least of all, speaking with that certain Voice that compelled all others to obey.  
Of course, to be able to have all of these things required discipline. A few Honored Matres did not make it, but the rest were sufficiently motivated enough to go through the training that every acolyte received. And as all within the Sisterhood knew, the training of a Bene Gesserit is never easy. For those who had gone through it successfully, it changed them. No longer were they so violent and blood-thirsty. Patience and self-control were two cornerstones of the Bene Gesserit School of Thought, and all it had taken for her to make her former sisters understand was to dangle a reward for all that considerable effort in front of them.  
And sometimes, all it takes is a promise to achieve the best results. Odrade-within could not help but chuckle at this thought and the memory of a Honored Matre who had been surprised at what a Bene Gesserit could do with poison, and Murbella smiled to herself as she continued to stare at the horizon. Any goal could be achieved with the right kind of motivation – and usually by not letting others know exactly what you were doing. The Honored Matres didn't recognize that by giving in to their own desires, they were achieving Murbella's goal.  
Just like how Leto II launched the Universe onto his Golden Path, and no one understood exactly what he was doing until well after he died. Just like the enlightment that Honored Matres attained when they became Bene Gesserit, so did Murbella see that everything Leto had done was for the good of humankind, even though many today still cursed the Tyrant's name.


	2. 13,953 AG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siona ibn Fuad al-Seyefa Atreides

Memories of Dune

The Duneverse that this story is set in is the creation of Frank Herbert. I claim no rights to his characters or any of his other creations therein.  
According to the Dune Encyclopedia, Siona died in 13,953 AG, 225 years after Leto himself died. Like Ghanima, she lived a very long life, and I can't help but wonder if the reason she and Ghanima (who made it past 300 years) lived for so long due to what they had been through. Apparently this was a very unique trait, as the list of Padishah Emperors and Dukes of House Atreides as well as most other characters mentioned in the Encyclopedia only lived average lifespans.  
I tried to keep this drabble short, but it became a lot longer and more winding than I had anticipated. I tried to trim it down, but couldn't find anything I deemed unnecessary. Oh well. Hope y'all enjoy!

o0o0o

Arrakis

13,953 AG

The verdant hills and plains of her childhood are now harsh dunes of brown and gold. The once-great seas are now but little oases – and even these will eventually disappear. All but the great Idaho River have since become desiccated river beds, and the raging river that was named after the loyal retainer to the Atreides is now little more than a trickle, clinging stubbornly to its existence.  
Siona Ibn Fuad al-Seyefa Atreides has also clung to her existence. For over two centuries, she has been the steward of Arrakis. She has seen firsthand the re-desertification of the planet, and the departure of several of her daughters to the Scattering. She has seen the planet start to produce spice again in the ever-growing Great Desert, and several years ago she saw a worm – though none of the few worms anyone has seen is yet one of the great monsters that Paul Muad'Dib rode.  
Her Fremen Other Memory has prepared her for this punishing climate. Not even the Museum Fremen were ready for this climate. No one was, despite Arrakis' rich history. But the Tyrant had seen this happening. Siona knew that Leto was fully aware of the consequences of his Golden Path.  
It seemed almost funny that she had once rebelled against it. She remembered well her youthful and defiant spirit, and the power of the flesh that went with it. Now, it seems that her flesh has no water at all. So many people fought against the ravages of age – creams, surgeries, diets, infusions with Spice. Though she knew that the Spice had extended her lifespan well beyond what anyone might expect for themselves, she also knew that her life would end one day. Unlike others, she would not fight against it.  
Her great-great-granddaughter – now de facto leader of what remains of the Fish Speakers and whatever power structure there remains in Arrakeen – was shocked when Siona declared that life in Arrakeen no longer suited her and she would spend her remaining time out in the desert. At this time, a couple of sietches have already been founded, by people who understood better than most others that the re-desertification of Dune was inevitable, even back then when the desert was but a thin belt on a still-verdant Arrakis and people still fought the expansion of the ever-creeping dunes. Siona ignored such attempts, or the petitions that she take action with them. She merely told them to do what they wanted, knowing they'd have to learn the hard way – the only way.  
The sietch she chose welcomed her with open arms. This community wasn't quite like the ones before Leto's time – there was moisture in the air! - but these people had adapted well, and would be ready for inevitable harsher climes. To them, she is an honored elder. With her Other Memory, she has already passed down the knowledge of Sayyadinas and Reverend Mothers to the women she has tested and deemed fit. The Water of Death was hard to come by, but these igneous people had managed to capture a small sandworm. Women from the other few sietches come to be tested too, and she welcomes them as well.  
For five years now she has lived here. Here in this small sietch, devoid of most of the luxuries to be found in Arrakeen, she feels that this is where she belongs. She is not confined by walls, guards, or bureaucracy. Any time she wants, she has but to step outside of the caves, and no one attempts to stop her despite her immense age. Of course, there are always offers to help. To them, she is a respected and loved elder. She is asked if she would like a cup of water, or some spice-wafers. Parents volunteer themselves or their children to attend her, just like they would any respected family member or elder. But no one ever tells her that she should not do this or that because oh, she is so old and frail, what if she fell and hurt herself? Despite her sinewy appearance, she is still strong. Sometimes she dons a stillsuit, other times she likes to feel the sun on her face and skin. Foolish, yes, this waste of water. She never forgot Leto's admonition during her trial. But no one else admonishes her.

o0o0o

Her end has come. She has known it for a while now. She has prepared for it. She lays there in the sand, having removed her stillsuit. The sands of Arrakis shift under her thin form. Like her distant ancestor Paul-Muad'Dib, she has gone out into the sands to meet her end. Leto met his own end not far from here, where the last remains of the Idaho River still trickled between the dunes. Arrakis will become Dune again, just as the Tyrant had planned. It was sometimes impossible to believe that she had been such a bull-headed youth, defiant against her great-uncle and his Golden Path.  
But oh, he had wanted that, and nobody else but the enlightened few knew! He had sacrificed a peaceful life to become known as the Tyrant, for the sake of mankind. Her descendants were already lost in the Scattering. Nobody would ever see them, no matter if their prescience spanned one end of the universe to the other. Her eyes were close, but the sun reflected off the sand filtered in through her eyelids. But in her mind, the only thing visible is a single, shining golden thread leading off in the darkness. This golden thread follows her unseen descendants, becoming unseen against the infinite canvas of space, extending far beyond the Known Universe.  
As she follows these threads, darkness engulfs her.


	3. 1231 AG

Memories of Dune

This particular drabble is about the founding of the Mentats by Gilbertus Albans. However, this is based on the Gilbertus in the Dune Encyclopedia and referred to by Duncan Idaho in Chapterhouse Dune. Gilbertus Alban's story is quite different when taken out of the DE rather than the crappy fanfiction of him done by Brian and Kevin.  
The Encyclopedia gave his date of birth and death (1192-1294 AG), showing that the School of Mentats were founded over 1200 years after the founding of the Guild, a rather different history than what was presented in the disappointingly-written Butlerian Jihad trilogy by Brian Herbert and Kevin Anderson. So I have done my best to fill in the story left behind by Frank Herbert and the Dune Encyclopedia.

o0o0o

1231 AG

It had been over a millennia since the great war that pitted man against machine. The prohibitions established after Jehanne Butler's jihad placed severe restrictions against machines. This was nothing new as over the century that the Jihad raged, humans destroyed any machine of their own that exhibited even the most simplistic AI network or reasoning. Machines would never again have a brain of their own, and come alive only under human hands.  
The Septimian philosopher Gilbertus Albans had studied history as part of his philosophical studies. He had examined life before, during, and after the Butlerian Jihad. While he agreed that humans should not allow machines to think for them ever again, he knew that the thinking machines had also benefited humans greatly. How could he use the multiple and complex simultaneous thought processes, rapid-fire data storage and retrieval, lightning-fast computation, and all possible options considered and analyzed within mere moments?  
The legendary supercomputers of pre-Jihad days had been famed for all that and more. It seemed such a shame that that potential should never be revisited. Machines were now strictly for labor, transportation, or data storage, all controlled and guided by humans through daily processes.  
He had studied the mind as well and what could be done to keep it in good working order. Puzzles, mnemonic devices, mental exercises in organization, memory, and other brain processes. He did all these and more to keep his own mind healthy, and was rewarded with a remarkable memory and rapid calculation skills. He had also worked on multitasking and focal points, to flex his mind and to train it to be able to handle several distinct threads of thought to different conclusions and solutions.  
But... If he took that further, then he could be on the verge of a breakthrough. The brain was remarkably similar to AI in several ways, and the brain had already proved itself capable of going beyond normal thought processes. It was rumored that the Bene Gesserit had already mastered such an evolution in their brains, which accounted for their mysterious abilities. And the pilots of the Spacing Guild had mastered the intricate calculations of foldspace which eluded those who did not shut themselves away in their eventual coffins of Spice gas.  
The creation of AI and the hubris and finally conflict that had come from it was a defining point in mankind's history. For once there was something smarter than they, and something of their own creation, on top of that. If man was smart enough to create such intelligence – modeled after the intricate networks within their own brains – then why couldn't they achieve that within their own brains?  
He would unlock that secret. The human brain would reach a level of processing and cogitation that would rival the intelligent machines that had nearly destroyed humanity. That in itself would prove a true victory over the machines, and propel humanity closer to its potential. If he could master these abilities, and set up a program of training so that others could do the same...  
None will rival our mental acuity. There. He had it. Mentats. A most appropriate name people trained by an order founded on maximizing the potential and abilities of the human mind.


	4. 14,075 AG

Memories of Dune

One of the very few things I did like about BH/KJA's Hunters/Sandworms was their background of the Honored Matres, and the eventual fate of the Tleilaxu. The ridiculousness of most of the ending aside, this sub-story of the Tleilaxu and the Honored Matres was something that made sense to me and could have fit into Frank Herbert'/s Dune. I think that out of everything in Hunters/Sandworms of Dune, the connection between the Honored Matres and the Tleilaxu was one thing that could have come from FH's notes.  
So I decided to do something with that, and also touch upon why the HM developed separately from the BG instead of being absorbed into the Sisterhood.

o0o0o0o

The Girl

ca. 14,075 AG

She did not even have a name. Just a combination of several letters and numbers that, when said rapidly, bore passing resemblance to what she would eventually learn were proper names. But she had barely known that they were letters or numbers. Each of the girls in the creche had the same sort of label, and they learned to recognize, and utter the sound as a means of identifying themselves and others.  
The identification of the ones who presided over them had different and more complicated sounds, though. Ones that sounded smoother and more pleasing to her ears. She tried to make these noises, and was frowned at. The Tleilaxu spoke to her and the other girls in a different way than they spoke amongst themselves, though. She had been quick to observe that from a very young age. Many of the other girls were complacent n their understanding of the world. They were fed, clothed, taught the rudiments of social graces and cleanliness so that they could fend for themselves. Older girls did much of the personal caring for the younger ones.  
They took walks, were led in simple exercise routines, and played games in the spaces given them. On occasion, one or a group of their keepers would come around, and choose this girl or that to be taken away. Such girls had never been seen again, as far as she could remember. Sometimes it was because a girl had been repeatedly ill-behaved, openly defying their keepers when issued a command. A few were constantly sickly. Whatever the reason, the Tleilaxu would not speak of these other girls when inquired by their charges. A sharp rap on the head was often the response to those who were insistent.  
However, there were others who were taken because they bled from between their legs. Their bodies would start to change. Breasts would grow, hips would broaden. Everyone knew what this meant, and that the girl would disappear in due time. It was feared, but met with general resignation and acceptance. Once in a while a girl might hide, but there were not many places that offered even temporary safety. The Tleilaxy always won, in the end, and discipline was terrible.  
This girl listened to the Tleilaxu as they walked amongst the girls or observed them. She came to understand that she and the others were taught a much simpler form of what the Tleilaxu spoke amongst themselves. The few times she'd spoken to them using these bigger words, she'd been slapped. She was quick to learn, and became but one of the bland-faced girls, talking in the childish way while listening to a language she had never been intended to learn. She learned to count beyond her fingers, and see deeper meaning in the videos that the girls were allowed to watch.  
She came to understand many of these higher words, and to eventually understand what they meant for her. Among children who the Tleilaxu believed too stupid to ever understand them, the men did not guard their words. The girls were the way that these squat, gray-skinned men used to make more of themselves. When a girl bled, it meant her body was ready to be used for this purpose. An axlotl tank. She didn't know the particulars, but some primal instinct told her that she did not want to be one. Gholas were also mentioned, though she was not quite sure what those were. And she herself had come out of an axlotl tank. Axlotl tanks begat more axlotl tanks, and they had been doing this for many, many, many cycles, far beyond what she had ever counted.  
As if this revelation had triggered something within her, her time came. When asked how many cycles she'd lived, she would have held up thirteen or fourteen fingers. Like many other girls, she tried to hide her affliction while trying to figure a way to escape. She had been taught no practical or technical knowledge, but she still tried to observe as much as she could. However, no girl was able to hide their bleeding longer than a few cycles.  
She tried to hide, of course. She was not the only girl. But like all others, she was caught. She begged for release from her captors, and was repeatedly slapped. Girls were not meant to be intelligent, or use words fit only for male tongues. They strapped her down, and needles went into her arms. As she sunk into consciousness, she cursed the Tleilaxu more with her emotions than the limited words she knew, certain it was the last thing she would ever be able to do, consciously.

o0o0o0o

There are whispers. She feels like she is floating. There are words unfamiliar to her, and she strains to respond.  
She comes awake in a bed, with concerned faces hovering over her. They are clad in dark clothing, and speak the language that the Tleilaxu use. She responds as best as she can, and is not slapped for using the Tleilaxu words.  
The girls – many of them far older than she could have ever imagined, with white hair and wrinkled faces – fill in the many gaps of knowledge that the Tleilaxu instilled in their girls. In the Famine Times, the Tleilaxu realized the necessity of scattering their numbers to ensure their survival in these precarious times, and the girl and the others were part of that vessel. Tleilaxu females to help seed new colonies, as a precaution against the destruction of their home world. Out in the deep reaches of space, this Tleilaxu settlement had not thought anyone would find them.  
But the Tleilaxu were not the only ones who had Scattered, and the struggling colony fell to a small army of women, refugees and descendants of refugees from the various wars that had erupted after the Tyrrant's stranglehold on the universe had been relinquished. The axlotl tanks were freed. Some were too old or worn out to live on their own, and had expired when unplugged from nutrients and air, their brains having turned to mush from the chemicals the Tleilaxu used to keep them asleep. But the girl had only been asleep for less than a year, so her limbs, thin as they are, were exercised back to normalcy.  
She remembers the rage she felt at the Tleilaxu as she'd been dragged to her fate, and that is furthered the more she learns – or confirms – from her rescuers. Countless women before her have been turned to axlotl tanks and discarded, seen as nothing more than receptacles for the dreams and desires of the Tleilaxu men.  
The dissolution of a central rule sent shock waves through the universe, fragmenting even the most powerful and longstanding organizations. The Tyrant had already had a stranglehold on the most precious substance in the universe. With a dearth of Spice, the Guild had to use its stores judiciously. The Bene Gesserit kept close watch over its ranks. The Great Houses did what they could to curry Leto's favor even as some of them also conspired to seize power from him or force him to release stores of Spice. He who controlled the Spice truly did control the Universe, and the Tyrant kept a tight control over this immeasurably valuable substance – and to many of the girl's new family, legendary, for Spice had not been seen in this part of the universe for centuries. Still, the Spice flowed… or more accurately, trickled.  
And when the Tyrant died, even this trickle had come to a total stop. The Fish Speakers were forced to scatter. The Bene Gesserit had to become especially judicious in number of Reverend Mothers it admitted to its ranks. Trips on Guild ships came to cost more than even tons of precious cargo. The fortunes of Great Houses rose and fell with the regularity of the sunrise and sunset. It all came down to the survival of the fittest.  
And this group has dedicated itself to its goals. With no Spice here in these deep reaches of space, there can be no Reverend Mothers, but many of the old Bene Geserit teachings are still accessible to the women of this ragtag group. The military training of the Fish Speakers also benefit these women, and the girl becomes one of their number. She becomes strong, and finally has an opportunity to make full use of her mind. History has long shown the fairer sex to be more abused than her masculine counterpart, and these women are determined to never let that be.  
Eventually, the girl – no longer a girl, though – becomes the leader of these ranks. When she'd been rescued from them, the primary objective had been survival – axlotl tanks had not been the only thing raided from the Tleilaxu colony-ship. Under the leadership of her predecessor and herself, they have become strong enough to move beyond their base needs.  
All these years, she has never let go of her rage. Regardless of what she has gained from the women who rescued her, her anger has been the driving force of her existence. She has known that one day, she would make the Tleilaxu pay. And now, she has more than sufficient means to.  
For countless years, mothers have been used, abused, and discarded. In many societies, they had been seen as nothing more than broodmares and chattel. And in this, the Scattering, where fragments of once-powerful collectives are pitted against one another, women have again received a harsh lot in many places. Slavery, forced breeding, concubinage, domesticity, hard labor, or pleasure, all for the whims of men.  
No more. Mothers are the givers of life, and they must be respected.  
Honored Matres.


End file.
